


With These Words, Bind Me

by Pakeha



Series: Child of the Enemy [5]
Category: The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ancient Egypt, Angst, Comfort, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Endurance - Freeform, Ephebophilia, M/M, Mild Humiliation, Non consensual polyamory, Or at least an attempt at aftercare, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Praise, Stamina, Storytelling Kink, Voice Kink, polyamory (discussed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pakeha/pseuds/Pakeha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As they approach Ahm Shere, Imhotep finds an excuse to see just how much Alex can endure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With These Words, Bind Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fisticuffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fisticuffs/gifts), [Who_First](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_First/gifts).



> Fair warning, this one ends up in a bit of a bleaker place than the others, but its gearing up (finally) for the arrival of some other characters and (gasp!) a bit of fucking plot. For the record this thing was never, ever meant to have plot, but now I've outlined a decent little storyline which will start with the next installment and take maybe two or three chapters in all to fulfill. So there.
> 
> Who knew my need for some freaky Undead-Mummy-Priest/Archaeologist-Librarian-boy action would carry me so far. 
> 
> Giving this one to Who_First and Fisticuffs because they both were looking for some history kink. I don't think I did it much justice (Especially for Who_First who was looking for something more detailed/ better researched I'm sure. My bad.), but I hope it pleases. 
> 
> As always I'm picturing an aged up Alex.

Alex can’t think.

Imhotep is speaking again and he knows what will happen if he doesn’t listen and he’s trying goddamnit he is _trying_ but he cannot _think_ -

The fingers inside Alex go horribly still pulling back against the anterior wall, away from his prostate, and Alex screams, burying his face in the crook of his elbow, his hips flexing to try and reacquire some pressure, some movement, _something_ , but Imhotep is merciless.

_Damn him._

“Are you listening, Alex?” The priest murmurs over him and perhaps if the man would speak louder than this bloody whisper then Alex could _focus._

The convoy has stopped traveling for a time. The train runs well enough, but periodically they come across stretches of track which have not fared well against the desert sands. They have labor and parts enough for repairs, but they take time. This night when the train had dragged itself to a halt, servants had quickly set up a tent some distance from the tracks at Imhotep’s demand. The priest claimed to desire some fresher air for himself, his consort, and his prize.

Anck Su Namun had claimed business with Baltus, and insisted she would rejoin him later.

Which left just Imhotep and the heir to the O’Connell legacy.

Alex feels like he’s breathed precious little of that aforementioned air, his chin pressed as it is to musty rugs covering cold sand. The fabric is damp from his panting, from the saliva he can’t seem to swallow fast enough, and his voice hitches as he tries to get his lips far enough from the ground to make himself understood.

“Yeah, I’m listenen’. ” He lies, voice tremulous and he has decided he does not like this new game of Imhotep’s _at all_.

“Are you certain?” The large man purrs and Alex moans, crushing his face again to the ground, rolling it to the side so his cheek is pressed to the rough silk weave, his eyes shut tight as he tries to bring the boiling in his blood back under control, tries to pull together a few tattered strands of dignity.

“I think,” Imhotep continues after a few moments of Alex’s continued stifled moans and whimpers, “that is a lie.”

The warm, blunt fingers buried in Alex’s ass scissor apart and then are slowly, terribly withdrawn.

“No.” Alex groans, wincing. “No, damnit, just a bit-”

Imhotep shushes him, his fingertips spreading the tight muscle just at the very entrance to Alex’s body, the skin feeling hot and tight and Alex’s whole body goes taut as for a terrible, thrilling moment he wonders if Imhotep will pull him _wider-_

Then the fingers are gone and every muscle in Alex’s body sags under the renewed weight of gravity.

“Fuck-” He mumbles weepily to the sand and Imhotep laughs softly next to him.

The priest’s large hand comes up to soothe at his spine, running hot and slow like a brand up each knobby vertebrae. How he can crouch there - _relaxed_ \- while Alex is on all fours and sobbing like a total _child_ -

“Listen to me.”

The youngest O’Connell coughs as he tries too hard to control his breathing and shakes his head back and forth, even as he mutters. “Yes, I’m trying, I’m fucking _trying_ -”

With his head bowed low his hair swings in a sweaty curtain around his face and it feels like it’s longer now, messier, even though he swore it was neat and tidy only a few short days ago. He zones out staring at it, mumbling half-hearted apologies that grow quieter and quieter as he studies the lank strands in front of his eyes.

Imhotep’s next touch however silences him, and his eyelids close, his thoughts fuzzing out and growing indistinct.

“This is important, child.” The Ancient murmurs, one hot palm cradling the weight of Alex’s balls and fissures of terror and need run right alongside each other in the boy, both threatening to split him wide. “In the coming days we will encounter the Scorpion King and it will take skill, cunning, and most importantly, _knowledge_ to overcome him.”

One of Imhotep’s thumbs strokes up that delicate skin leading to the boy’s entrance, his touch so light that it holds Alex’s focus like an electric shock. The feathery pleasure makes him shudder and buck back involuntarily, looking for a little bit more, but at every one of his motions his master’s hands go still and he’s left sagging and groaning and without satisfaction.

Alex can hear the smug smile on the priest’s face when he speaks again and he loathes it. He _loathes it_.

“Do you know how many days we have left to reach Ahm Shere, Alexander?” Imhotep’s deep tones soothe over the ragged edges of the teen’s nerves and he sags a bit, even as his hips still twitch under Imhotep’s now steady stroking and massaging of his balls, the petting of the taught tendons of his inner thighs.

“Two.” He grunts after a moment, breathless. “Two days.”

Next to him Imhotep shifts so his face is leaning closer to Alex’s ear. “Good.” He murmurs and he squeezes the boy’s balls firmly, making Alex keen and buck his hips down into the man’s hand. “What will we encounter there, dear boy?”

“The goddamn Scorpion King, oh, fuck, _please_ -”

Imhotep laughs. “That would be inadvisable. Scorpions may take as long as twenty-four hours to entice a mate and fertilize them. I doubt you have the stamina.”

Distantly Alex realizes he’s drooling and he shuts his mouth to try and stave the flow but the rug is already wet beneath his cheek and he groans, frustration and arousal at odds as Imhotep’s fingers creep up towards his entrance again, stroking through the slick abundance of oil already in and around Alex’s hole. “Please.” He hisses around clenched teeth, turning his head away from Imhotep even as he pushes his pelvis backwards and in to Imhotep’s questing hands.

“ _Listen_ -” Imhotep begins again and something in Alex snaps. His hands fist the rug in front of him as tight as his fingers allow, his shoulders shake with want.

“I am!” He sobs, his whole body trying to thrust forward, his instincts at odds with reality and he nearly sobs as his motions come up with _nothing_ : no relief. No satisfaction.

Until three thick fingers thrust into his hole _hard_ and _fast_ and Alex yelps and jerks his head up in shock, a rushing sound filling up his ears and his blood pounding in his veins as his master takes up a violent pace, thrusting his fingers in and out, continuing to stretching him.

“Imhotep!” He chokes, arching back into each forward jab of the man’s hand. “Fuck, Imhotep, don’t, don’t, fuck, _Imhotep_ -”

“You are _far_ too tempting, boy.” The priest grunts in his ear, and the fingers leave abruptly and he lets out a cry of protest, trying to twist his torso so he can use one hand to scrabble backwards and pull Imhotep _closer_ but the priest reaches up and wraps a hand around the back of his neck with a snarl, shoving him face first into the mess of a rug and Alex gasps, canting his hips back as he feels the press of a huge, dripping cock-head against his hole and fuck it but he wants, he wants it, he wants it-

“You-” The priest snarls as he slams his entire cock into Alex and the teenager gives a muffled shriek, his body clamping down on the invading prick, his mouth open wide as he struggles to bring in enough air around the fingers just pressing into the side of his throat and the crush of silk and sand against his face. “You are _difficult._

“I delight in you, boy.” He hisses against the side of Alex’s neck and he’s draped over the boy’s body, pressed chest to spine and he feels _huge_ , all muscle and desert heat and raw power and Alex feels so small beneath him like this, wrapped up in these arms, buried under this weight. In him that cock is pounding at his insides, branding him, owning him- “But you need discipline. You must obey me, my prize. You must _listen_.”

“I’m trying!” Alex sobs against the ground and Imhotep growls lowly, thrusts deep, and makes Alex whimper as the vibrations travel _in him_ -

Without warning he slows again. Each thrust is still bruisingly powerful, but they become spaced out by long moments where Imhotep rests his fat cock head just inside Alex’s entrance, his hot breath mingling with the sweat at Alex’s nape. The terrible stillness between each motion causes Alex to sob in frustration, fingernails stinging as he fists the stiff rugs below him.

“Alex...” Imhotep soothes as he drives home a measured thrust. His voice is still rough but he’s gotten it under-control once-again and no, Alex doesn’t want this, he wants more, he _needs_ more, he can’t do this for so long, it’s pulling him apart-

“Alex.” The priest says it again, and again, humming and gentling Alex away from the edge of a break down, the rhythm of his thrusts dwindling down to a slow roll of his hips, more a reminder than any actual attempt at orgasm. Against the rugs Alex heaves wetly.

“Please-” He cries but Imhotep hushes him. Around the boy’s chest and waist the priest wraps enormous, tanned arms, pulling the smaller body upright with him until the boy is gasping and sitting on the tops of his thighs, his back pressed to Imhotep’s chest, the priest’s cock still buried deep in his young body.

Dizziness swamps Alex and he closes his eyes against the disorientation, tilting his head back against Imhotep’s shoulder and holding very still as he let’s the man maneuver the pair of them from this upright position into one of recline against the cushions and rugs piled up in the middle of the tent. When he opens his eyes again it’s because Imhotep has managed to arrange them both on their sides, the larger man curled around Alex’s back, taking enough of his weight that Alex isn’t fully grounded, half-suspended in Imhotep’s arms.

The priest’s cock is still fully erect and half-buried in the boy’s ass.

One of those strong hands is wrapped around Alex’s chest, pulling him backwards into the searing press of skin to skin, the other is curled around the inside of the boy’s thigh, tugging it up and back, exposing the place where they are connected, the taut skin stretching tighter with the pull.

“Listen.” Imhotep murmurs in the boy’s ear when they are finally arranged as he would like, resuming the rhythm push and pull of his cock in and out of Alex’s body. On each inward thrust Alex can feel _everything_. The stretch, the sweat, the coarse dark hair low on the older man’s abdomen rough against Alex’s skin. It’s all entirely too much and Alex feels like his brain is liquifying, like he can’t think at all.

“If you will not heed strategy, hear me now while I tell you of sweeter things, boy.”

Alex feels strung out, he’s growing almost numb, and his balls are tight to his body but his erection doesn’t feel good any longer. The nerves of his entrance sting, pleasure seems like a distant dream, his heart is thudding so hard in his chest it almost hurts. Every inch of skin is alive and confused and complaining.

He blinks back the wetness along his eyelids and takes a deep breath.

He just wants some relief. Please, just some relief.

With eyes half lidded and glittering, staring out at the dark tent walls he presses his head back and under Imhotep’s chin. It must be acquiescence enough because the priest purrs and begins to speak to him, his voice deep and steady now, his tempo even and sure.

“Our hours have been brief boy, and our accommodations little enough to be proud of. Know though, that in another time child, in another place, I would worship every inch of your fair skin.” Lips press a kiss to Alex’s ear and the boy shivers.

Deep inside his body foreign flesh still presses in and out, moving slick and steady through the easement of oil Imhotep has anointed him with. The feeling is raw and too much and Alex can’t decide if he wants so much more or for everything to stop completely. Imhotep hushes him as a whimper builds in his throat, his words flowing like warm water over the boy’s skin.

Alex’s mind drifts.

“Thousands of years ago, this land was lush, my prize. The shores of the Nile were green, the winds off her waters sweet as any ocean breeze. Through the colonnades of the temple you could smell it, wet and fertile. In my quarters, you would taste the very sweetness of it in the air. It would pour into you and rest heavy in your lungs and belly, like a promise.” Sweat beading along Alex’s throat is swept up by a hungry tongue before the priest continues.

“Here I keep you, my child, in these fine rooms, away from court, away from the world, as _my_ prize. Here where my bed is wide and dressed in fine linen, here we are to lay together in the summer heat. Here you are spread out for me, waiting. Your body is aching, _needing_.”

Alex’s breath hitches and he shuts his eyes turning his head down towards his shoulder, tucking his chin against his collar bone. He does not think as he brings up the hand which was folded under his side and lays it over the one Imhotep has wrapped around his chest.

He threads his fingers between the larger ones which rest so surely on his pale skin.

Imhotep flexes his hand to accommodate. He grips tight.

“You know that I have ached for you for days, my dear one, but the fates have strived to keep us apart. It is the week of the Night Festival and I have been serving at the temple. Now, while we still hear the flutes and drums of revelers in the streets, my duties have ended and I have come to you with a fire in my veins. I hunger for you, my prize. Tonight we join, and you tremble as my hands play your body like an ancient lyre, my fingers plucking pleasure from your skin until you sing for me-”

Alex moans, warmth dripping back into his blood. He breathes steadier, the tense line of his shoulders relaxes.

Imhotep’s next thrust is harder, a little faster, and Alex flexes back.

He does not break.

He tries it again.

Imhotep shifts his grip on Alex’s leg he’s holding aloft. His pace quickens.

Alex shudders, heat pooling again in his belly, unable to keep himself from gasping as Imhotep’s building pace jostles the breath out of him.

“I prepare your body for my entrance, the scent of sweet myrrh rises from your skin. You have made yourself ready for me.”

A groan leaves Alex’s throat, he shakes his head, but his toes curl anyways, his hips pushing backwards as Imhotep fucks him.

“I delight in you my child. You push your pelvis down into my hand, eager for our coupling. I find the center of pleasure in you and I press into it and I pet you there until you _writhe_ -”

His words are punctuated by a determined thrust and Alex cries out as his prostate is struck, his breath melting into a moan as he undulates against Imhotep, hoping against hope that this is it, that now he will be allowed to come.

“Do you feel me child? As I push deep into your body and tie us together and you are mine once more, do you feel?”

“Yes-” Alex whimpers, eyes glassy and lost.

“Touch yourself.” It’s a command Alex is all to happy to obey and he scrabbles to wrap his cock in his fist, moaning obscenely as Imhotep increases the speed and power of his thrusts to match the desperate way the teenager fights to bring himself to climax. He has found Alex’s prostate now and seems determined to make good use of it.

“You are a gift to me. A slave and a beauty, the lover of a god-”

Alex wails and tries to curl forward on himself, his climax building for what he hopes is the last time, his limbs quaking. Sill he is held fast, Imhotep using the hold he has on his leg to yank the youth back onto his cock.

“Take me in, child, you serve me so well-”

The heavy grunts in his ear, the way his whole body shudders on every impact, the frantic hot slide of his own hand over his cock and it’s too much, Alex can’t hold back. With a cry of something that tastes like despair the O’Connell heir finds his release ripped from him, pleasure boiling in his veins.

Every muscle tightens, flexes, and behind him Imhotep snarls as he buries himself deep and pulls Alex’s body as tight to him as possible, rolling his hips as the boy’s body milks him to climax, coaxing the pulse of seed which splashes into his body.

The teenager stares wide eyed and heaving as he rides through the feeling, unable to stop himself from rocking with Imhotep’s diminishing thrusts, his cock twitching desperately with each thunderous aftershock that rolls through him. His skin is feels like its crackling with energy, he feels like he is shaking all the down to his _bones_.

There’s a wetness on his cheeks which he doesn’t notice until Imhotep lifts a hand to his face, still breathing heavily, and uses his thumb to rub away the tears.

“Well done.” He rumbles, voice gravel-rough and Alex shuts his eyes tight, shivering, pushing back into the wall of warmth at his back. Imhotep’s full lips press against his cheek and Alex cannot stand it. He can’t-

Inside him the priest’s half hard cock is still nestled and Alex doesn’t think as he bares down on it, reminding himself of it’s presence. Behind him Imhotep grunts and his lips and fingers still as he savors the feeling.

Then slowly his master lower’s his leg, squeezing the inside of his thigh to soothe at the cramp which threatens, before moving his hand up to Alex’s belly. He presses it there, over the flat plane and holds still.

They hold still, for a long time.

Alex’s gaze is half-focused and there’s a shadow of despair and loneliness and _want_ swallowing him. It’s muted, numbed by pleasure and overwhelmed by exhaustion, but it’s there, souring the silence.

Eventually Imhotep resumes a gentle stroking of Alex’s skin, letting his prize soak up a little peace in the quiet, humid confines of their tent.

At length he kisses the boy’s temple again, the press of his lips hungry and lingering. He murmurs. “You will be with me, Alex, when I reign over a new and more glorious Egypt. I will take you with me.”

The thin net in Alex’s soul which is separating satiation and anger rips clean through.

“You already have a fucking consort.” Alex rasps, hollow, shuddering, concentrating on the now-softened cock which is somehow still there, just barely inside him. His stomach does a flip and he swallows.

The hand on Alex’s belly pauses it’s ministrations, before it simply firms in its press and tugs Alex all the more surely back agains his chest.

“Pharoah’s of old kept many wives. I am not so greedy, but I will be glad of my two.” Imhotep offers as his way of comfort and Alex’s heart is black.

“Fuck you.” He hisses, and he means it. He squirms and Imhotep’s cock finally dislodges, wetness smearing down Alex’s thighs. He chooses to cling to the satisfaction this act of rebellion elicits as he shuts his eyes. He does not wrestle with Imhotep’s hold.

He knows better, in spite of himself.

Those arms around him immediately feel less welcoming, but they do not pull away. Inside their embrace Alex holds his breath, and it’s a terrible minute before Imhotep sighs.

“You are a very changeable creature, Son of O’Connell.”

Alex laughs once but it’s a bitter, ugly sound. He does not open his eyes. Perhaps if he sleeps quickly enough, he will not hear Anck Su Namun enter. He will not hear her sneering remarks as to his state of undress or hygiene.

Perhaps he can dream of Egypt of old where he is the one and the only.

In the morning he can lie and he will bite and be vicious, but now, he aches for a sleep where he can lie in that wide, warm bed once more.


End file.
